


one more

by Inthesewords



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Oh the drama, and making them kiss, oh the angst, really just replacing with my favorite characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 11:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30071625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inthesewords/pseuds/Inthesewords
Summary: It may really by the end, this time.OR: What if Carol and Daryl experienced the events of “One More”?(10x19 rewrite with our favorite characters)
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	one more

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a few people mention that it would’ve been cool if Caryl had One More instead of Find Me. So, here you go! A lot of dialogue is taken directly from that episode, so credit to the writers. (also, it’s weird how easily Carol and Daryl mapped onto Gabe and Aaron, but I digress).

It may really be the end, this time.

She knew that was incredibly pessimistic. Maybe she was just hungry and cranky from two long weeks searching for supplies with Daryl. But they’d never gone this long without some kind of win, and without one, she didn’t see how the communities could survive.

Instead, they’d trekked over 100 miles by this point, painstakingly checking every possible lead on the map that Maggie gave them. All they’d found had been new and terrible ways to find the dead. A house, burned to the ground with parents and their child inside. Walkers that had died chained on a roof. A skeleton couple, wrapped in a final embrace. 

Just one more. Just one more place to check, one more mile to endure, and maybe they’d find something.

By the time they make it to the old warehouse, she feels like she wants to lie down and never get back up. But she can’t tell Daryl that. Instead, she takes the lead on securing safe entry, banging at the entrance for walkers. None show.

Silently, Carol and Daryl turn on their flashlights and move cautiously into the building. 

They have their routine down now. Without a word, they separate to cover more ground. She sees Daryl make his way towards the back, while she takes one of the rows to the right. She does a cursory scan of the items around her, and rifles through a filing cabinet, lucking out with a bottle of fine whiskey, which she excitedly places in her bag. Other than that, the only thing that sticks out to her is a pile of bibles. She pauses reverently, in spite of herself, and gently opens up the top one. Half the pages are ripped out.

She drops the book when she hears Daryl-- for lack of better word-- screech.

Carol immediately bolts towards the back of the building where she knew him to be, knife at the ready, and finds him in a back office, panting over what looks like--

“Is that a boar?!” She asks incredulously.

Daryl wipes his face then hunches down, catching his breath with his hands on his knees. He looks back up when he hears her snicker. “What?”

“Nothing!” She says, grinning and shaking her head as she puts away her knife. “Just... that was quite the scream.” 

“Hey,” he says, straightening up. “Those things are vicious!” 

“Clearly,” she says mockingly, putting her hands up placatingly. “Hence the scream.” 

He narrows his eyes at her and she starts chuckling. Then, what can only be described as guffawing. Soon she is wheezing.

“All right, let it all out,” he says huffily, hands on his hips. She doubles over as she continues to laugh hysterically, but starts trying to take deep breaths. “Are you through?” he asks, but can’t help but smirk at her amusement.

Her laughing starts to subside and she wipes the tears off her eyes. “You know what I feel like?” she asks, gesturing to the boar. “Dinner. And…” she pulls the bottle of whiskey out of her bag. “Drink.”

He breaks into a grin at that, and they get to work turning their surprise guest into supper.

____________________________________________________________________________

Carol finishes preparing the plates to eat while Daryl comes out from his further search of the building bearing a handful of beanie babies.

“Check it out,” he says, sticking his full arms out to Carol to show her his haul. “Think Judith is too old for this kinda thing now?”

“I dunno,” she says. “Sophia used to love those, though.”

His mouth twitches at Sophia’s name. He examines the animals in his arms and shrugs. “Well, either way, guess it’s good for RJ. And Hershel, come to think of it.”

She smiles kindly at him as he puts the stuffed animals away before joining her at the table. She’s laid out their respective plates and empty glasses, and as he sits, she begins to pour out a finger’s worth of the whiskey into each glass.

Daryl eyes the seemingly small amount of liquor. “What, that’s it?” 

Carol rolls her eyes. “Daryl, this shit’s rare. People would’ve paid $2,000 for a bottle like this before the turn. Ed won a bottle once in a poker game and wouldn’t shut up about it.” 

He looks at her and shakes his head disapprovingly. “The fact that people would pay that much to get drunk is a huge part of what was wrong with the world.” 

“The point wasn’t to get drunk! Just … sniff it.”

He scoffs. “I ain’t gonna sniff it.”

She eyes him expectantly. “Daryl, c’mon.” 

He huffs and lifts up the glass, before catching her eye again, groaning, and taking a big whiff of the liquor in his cup. He scrunches his nose. “What am I s’posed to be smelling?” 

She looks at him blankly. “No idea.” She grabs her glass and raises it towards him cheerfully. “Cheers!”

He glares at her for a moment before smirking and shaking his head, bringing his glass to meet hers in a toast.

___________________________________________________________________________

“You don’t have it,” he says.

She peers at him over her cards, putting on an excessive air of nonchalance. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Question is, do you?”

He grunts and looks back down at his cards before looking back at her, but she’s giving away nothing. The bottle of whiskey, to the side of them on the table, was mostly full when they started-- but that was hours ago. Now, they’re nearly down to the last quarter.The whiskey has gone to his head, making him think more slowly and her acting more mischievous, it seems. 

He huffs, and puts his cards down, folding his hand.

She breaks into a genuine smile, reaching over and pulling the bottle caps they’re betting towards her. “Many thanks.” 

“No no no… show me!” 

Carol mockingly puts her hand to her heart, acting appalled. “My my, what kind of girl do you take me for?”

He rolls his eyes. “Show me your cards.”

Carol arches her eyebrow and purses her lips tauntingly, before laying out her crap cards.

His head falls back at the sight of them. “Goddamnit!”

She laughs heartily and picks up the bottle of whiskey, sauntering over to some bean bags they found and dropping into one triumphantly. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game!”

He squints his eyes as he lolls his head towards her, before grunting and getting up to join her on the other chair. 

“Careful!” she says, as he moves to position himself into the chair. “You may not be able to get back up.”

“Stahp.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence, the whiskey allowing them to forget everything but what’s right there in the room with them.

“How’d you get so good at cards anyway?”

Carol, whose eyes had been closed, pops one lid open and seeks him out. He’s staring at the ceiling but glances over at her.

“My grandma.” 

Daryl turns his head towards her with raised eyebrows. She catches his eye and laughs. “I’m serious!” she says. Grandma was a shark.” 

He chuckles. “There’s gotta be a story there.”

Carol smiles and nods, before turning her head back to look at the ceiling. “Well, you know that I lived with her for awhile when I was a teenager.” She sees him nod out of the corner of her eye. “Before that I was kinda… wild, and my super strict parents couldn’t take it anymore, which suited me fine because my grandma was the only one that seemed to care for me anyway. She had her own rules too, but at least I felt like she _cared_ about me, and I cared far more about her approval than I did about my parents’. She was super religious, and we went to church together every Sunday, and that eventually helped turn me around, too. She was kinda like the ‘welcome wagon’ there, because she was so personable. She knew everyone and everything that was going on with them, and would be the first introduction to new parishioners. Part of how she did this was inviting folks over after service for a weekly game of poker. Said that that was the best way to get to know people, and she was _really_ good at it too. Got a reputation for taking people’s money, but they still came and played, because it was a good time, and she’d give it all back to the church anyway, so it was more of a sin _not_ to. And… she had this way of making you feel seen. Heard. Cared for. People confided in her. She was always organizing casseroles and fundraisers for the neighbors. Whatever needed doing, she’d do. Thing was, she was always giving. Her time, her energy, never taking care of herself. She died when I was 19. Cancer. Had to sell the house, everything to pay for her treatment, and it still didn’t work. Another fitting end to a devotee of God, huh? But it never shook her faith and she made me promise it wouldn’t shake mine. But… enough stuff has happened since then.” 

She sighs, and Daryl hoists himself up on the bean bag, regarding her. “Is that where all that ‘junior league’ shit came from?”

She shrugged. “It’s a good way to get to know people. But no. My grandma, helping people, that was genuine. Me with Ed, and when we got to Alexandria… that was survival.”

Daryl plucks at the side of the bean bag. “When I was out there bringing people to Alexandria… that felt right. Helping people was right. We haven’t done that in a long time. Maybe we could get back to it.” 

Carol turns her head towards him. “You really think things are gonna go back to the way they were?” 

“It has to” 

“It won’t. The world wasn’t built for the way we used to be.” 

He shakes his head. “You don’t believe that. Your head is all…” he gestures with his hand twisting in the air “...over the whisperers. Who and what they were, that is not most people.” 

Carol hoists herself up on her elbows to see him better. “Evil people aren’t the exception to the rule, they are the rule.” 

They lock eyes for a beat, before he shakes his head again and lies back down. “Well… now I’m sober.” 

She snorts and they lapse back into silence, both eventually passing out into drunken slumbers. 

___________________________________________________________________________

When she wakes up, she is alone. Her head is pounding, the dim light filtering through the top windows is far too bright, her mouth is dry, and there’s no sign of Daryl.

It takes her a minute to pull herself out of the cushy chair, disoriented as she is. He could’ve just stepped outside, but he doesn’t normally take his crossbow with him to pee, and there’s no sign of it anywhere either.

“Daryl?”

Her voice echoes in the emptiness of the warehouse. Her senses immediately go into overdrive. She starts walking down the eyes, peering cautiously around corners. Once she’s walked the whole thing, she turns to go back to their sleeping area- but stops at the clearing of a throat.

She turns back and sees a figure shrouded in darkness at the other end of the room.

“What were you cooking?” the figure asks gruffly.

Carol is frozen in place. “What?” 

“I said, what were you cooking?” 

Making a decision, she affects the timid housewife persona again-- an oldie but a goodie. “Boar,” she says, voice timid.

“Boar,” the man grunts. “How was it?”

She shrinks in on herself, not responding.

“... the boar, how was it?” 

“It was… good,” she says, finally. 

He takes off his hood. “I’d like a bite.”

Seeing no alternative, she gestures for him to follow her back to where they’d set up the table for dinner last night. He immediately plops into what was Daryl’s chair, and she slowly sinks into her.

She puts on a small smile as she watches him dive into their leftovers. “My name is Carol. What’s yours?” The man doesn’t respond, instead biting ravenously into the cold meat. She tries again. “I came here with a friend of mine, have you seen him?” Still, nothing. She breathes deeply, trying to keep the mask in place. “Can I ask what it is that you want?” 

“Seems like you’re the one here wanting,” he finally replies, not looking up from his meal. “Wanting to break into my place, eat my boar, drink my whiskey.” 

She bows her head regretfully. “It didn’t look like anyone lived here.” 

“So you figured that boar got into that room by itself?” he asks gruffly, finally looking up from his meal to stare sharply at her.

“We were just looking for food. We meant no harm.” 

The man wipes his hands sloppily on his pants as he continues to leer at her. “You can cut the innocent act, darlin’. I ain’t buyin’.” He gets up abruptly, knocking the chair over behind him, walks towards the office and pulls out Daryl’s crossbow. The sight of it makes her blood run cold. He tosses it down menacingly. “Does this say no harm to you?” 

She breathes deeply again, assessing the situation. “You should know that we’re part of a larger group. More than 20 armed fighters, they’ll be coming if we don’t get back soon.” 

He huffs a laugh. “I don’t bluff as easy as your boyfriend in your little card game.” 

Swiftly, he swings around the shotgun strapped to his back and holds it up admiringly. “You think it’s loaded?” 

She watches him calmly. “There aren’t a lot of bullets left in the world.” 

The man holds her gaze for a moment, before whipping his gun back towards the window of the office and firing a round. She jumps at the sudden sound echoing through the room. 

“You think he made it?” the man asks as the echoes subside. 

“What?” Carol whispers, her breath now quickening.

“Your man! He’s in there?” 

Carol jumps out of her chair and bolts towards the office door, but he’s too quick, and aims his gun at her. She stops, breathing heavily and glaring daggers at him. He smirks at her agitation and walks over to open the office door, poking his head into the room before coming back out. “Still breathing I think!” 

“I wanna see him.” 

The man ignores her, chuckling and stalking back towards her with the machine gun pointed menacingly.

“Don’t do this,” she pleads. “You can just let him go and we’ll get out of your hair. We’re good people-- he’s a good person--”

“‘Evil people aren’t the exception to the rule, they are the rule,’” he says, and her mouth snaps shut at the implication that he’d been spying on them all night. 

“I was drunk”

“A drunk tongue’s an honest one. There’s nothing left in this world but thieves and murderers.” 

Carol swallows and shakes her head. “There’s still good in this world. You just have to look for it.” 

“Who you trying to convince, darlin’? Me or you?” 

They stare at each other a beat longer before he moves towards the office again. “Or, better yet, convince him!”

He rushes into the office and emerges wheeling Daryl in a chair, gagged and bound, forehead bloodied by the blow that must have incapacitated him. He drags the chair all the way around the opposite side of the table from Carol. She and Daryl make eye contact, but their usual silent communication fails them. There’s no predicting what’s to come.

The man undoes Daryl’s ties. Then, he pulls out a revolver. He empties it onto the table and puts one bullet back in. “One round. One in six chance.” He places the revolver back on the table. “Well, you got a choice,” he says. “Each time you can point it at yourself or your lover sitting across from ya. Winner goes home.” 

“We’re not doing this,” Carol says defiantly.

The man shrugs. “Then you both die.” 

“How do we know you won’t kill us both anyway?” Daryl asks, staring hard at their opponent.

“You don’t.” 

Carol shakes her head. “We can make this right, get you a new boar.” 

“It’s not about the boar,” the man says.

Daryl scoffs. “Then what is it about?” 

The man smirks. “Enlightenment.” He turns towards Carol and pushes the revolver in her direction. “Now go ahead.” She refuses to look at him, instead fixating on the revolver in front of her. “Him or you, darlin’?” he prompts. “Pick.” 

Carol finally raises her eyes to meet Daryl’s. He’s shaking his head silently, chin starting to quiver at what he knows she plans to do. She gives him a sad smile. “It’s okay,” she says softly. 

She quickly grabs the revolver, puts it to her temple and pulls the trigger.

But the cartridge is empty. 

She breathes out shakily and lowers the gun back to the table. 

“Now you,” the man says, moving the gun towards Daryl. Carol looks up quickly and tries to catch his eye, but he refuses to look at her. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion. He takes the gun and raises it to his own temple, waiting a moment before pulling the trigger. 

Carol squeezes her eyes shut as she tries to catch her breath. She opens them back up to see Daryl, also breathing heavily and staring back at her. Still breathing. She wipes at her face and angrily turns to the man. “Why are you doing this?” 

The man looks hard at her before turning towards Daryl, gesturing to the scar on Daryl’s face. “What happened to your eye?” 

Daryl eyes him. “Accident,” he answers gruffly.

The man huffs. He turns back towards Carol and gestures at her forehead. “And your head? What happened there?” 

“I fell,” she says, voice steely. The man huffs again. She tilts her head at him. “What? You wanted to hear that someone did it? To prove how evil man is? Is that what this is about? You think I’m gonna shoot him or he’s gonna shoot me?” 

“Quiet! Now you pick it up and point it at your head or his.” He aims the rifle at Carol and starts screaming. “Now! Now! Now!” 

She sobs and grabs the gun, putting it to her head and squeezing. But no bullet. Only the sound of Daryl trying to hold it together across from her.

The man pulls the revolver from her hand and slides it across to Daryl. Daryl looks back at Carol, holding her gaze as he reaches to pick up the revolver. As he loads the chamber, a metal click resounds in the small space. Carol’s breath catches and tears start flowing freely down her face at the sound.

“Hear that?” the man says menacingly. “Makes a different sound when the chamber loads.” He turns to Daryl. “You got a choice to make son.” 

Daryl looks up at the man, eyes like lasers. “Ain’t no choice. We don’t kill each other. We protect each other. Like family. “

The man barks out a cruel laugh. “Family? Like that’s supposed to mean something?” He steps back and waves the rifle. “Wanna hear about family? When I was with my brother and his family when we were on the road, I saved their lives more than I can count. And then I wake up one day and there’s my brother, stealing the last of my food. And he just stares at me. And then he comes at me with a knife and...I handled it. But I didn’t blame my brother. Cuz he gave me something valuable that day.” 

Carol scoffs. “He didn’t give you anything.” 

The man breaks out of his reverie to lean towards Carol. “What did you say?” 

“You're just trying to make sense of what happened to you,” she spits out. “So you wall yourself up in here, believing that everyone left is evil or only out for themselves because it’s easier to accept than the truth-- that you meant less to your brother than some scraps of food.” 

“Carol--”

“No, Daryl, he’s gonna hear this! Now I know something about looking for the meaning in things. But most times, there isn’t any. No answers, no ‘grand design’. Your brother didn’t give you any enlightenment, just a ripped up face, and you’re so full of hate that you can’t see that you’re gonna murder two good people and for what? To prove what?” 

“That you aren’t any different,” he yells back, getting even more agitated.

“Yes, we are!” she shouts.

The man rushes towards Daryl. “Pull that trigger.” Daryl shakes his head. “I said pull it! Her or you, who’s it gonna be?”

Daryl looks back at Carol and she shakes her head at him, sobbing silently, mouthing “please don’t.”

The man moves even further into Daryl’s space. “What about the kids? Judith, RJ? You wanna see ‘em again, right? Well then you know what you gotta do!” Daryl starts crying as he looks to Carol. The man sticks his head near Daryl’s face as he yells. “Don’t look at her! Do you wanna see them again or no?” 

Daryl’s face crumbles as he looks down at the table, and struggles out the truth: “Yes I do.” 

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“It’s okay, Daryl,” Carol says, across the table from him, trying to keep her words only for him. “I want you to live. I _need_ you to live. It’s okay. Just point it at me, Daryl, please,” she chokes out, tears overcoming her.

“Time’s up!” the man shouts into Daryl’s ear. “Three, two, one…”

With one last look to Carol, Daryl whips the gun up to his temple.

“STOP!” the man yells, knocking the revolver out of Daryl’s hand. “THIS IS WHO PEOPLE ARE!” he shouts, pointing to his own scar on his face. “THIS IS TRUTH!” 

His words echo through the room against the backdrop of Carol’s and Daryl’s tears. 

“You’re wrong,” Carol shudders out, breathing deeply and looking down at the ground. “I was wrong.” She looks up at the man then, trembling. “People in this world are capable of more than just killing each other. They still love. Still sacrifice. Your brother didn’t give you any truth, he just betrayed you. And if you punish others for his sins then you’re no better than him. Now, you weren’t always like this. None of us were. You have to remember who you were.” 

“I know who I am!” 

“I do too,” she continues, voice getting stronger, “because I know people just like you. We both do. Good people. Who’ve been broken by this world. You don’t have to be like this! There is another way. Our community is real. It’s full of people who were lost and found their way back. You can too. We can help you. If you’ll let us.” 

“Darlin,” he says in a hushed tone, “I don’t believe you.” 

“You should,” Daryl says, following her lead. “Because that’s who we are.” 

The man takes in a deep breath and looks at the two of them. Slowly, he retrieves the gun, putting the safety on the revolver and putting it back in his pocket. He walks over and begins to remove Daryl’s ropes and bindings. 

“Mays. My name is Mays.” 

Daryl regards the man, wondering if there really is one beneath the monster they just witnessed. But as he does so, there’s a crack-- Mays falls to the ground, Carol holding Daryl’s crossbow above him.

She ducks down to check his pulse, but after a minute, finds none. He’s dead.

“It’s okay. We’re good,” she says, as she rises back up. Daryl is wide eyed as he stares at Mays and then back at Carol. 

“We couldn’t take him with us,” she starts, feeling the need to justify her choice, voice quavering. “He killed his brother’s family.” The crossbow starts shaking in her hands and she drops it to the ground with a clamor. 

“I know,” he says from where he remains in the office chair. They maintain eye contact, hers part defiance and fear, his inscrutable. 

“You were gonna pull the trigger,” she whispers, a tear rolling down her cheek that she hastily wipes away. 

“And you were asking me to pull it on you,” he says, his voice breaking. 

She sighs, hugging herself. “I could never let anything happen to you. There’d be nothing left of me after that.” 

The words land on the table between them as Daryl continues to stare at her, his eyes still glossy. “Why?” 

The silence between them feels deafening with the weight of all the things they’ve always left unsaid. But suddenly, the weight didn’t seem bearable any more.

“You know why,” she states. She looks him in the eye, not wanting to hide anymore. “You’re what I want, Daryl.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he slowly gets up from the chair and she watches him wearily as he comes towards her, too unsure to know what will happen next. He moves in cautiously until he’s standing inches in front of her. He tucks her hair behind her ear and her eyes close at the touch. She opens them again and takes in his bloodied head close up. She touches it lightly and traces her fingers down to his lips. She looks up at him to find him watching her. Slowly, they both lean in for a feather light kiss. 

They come apart as gradually as they came together, each seeking out assurance in the others’ eyes. She breaks into a small smile, and soon he does the same. She sighs at the sight, and with the enormity of the moment, all at once feels the weight of everything that’s happened. She tucks her head into his chest, and he immediately wraps his arms around her in a tight embrace. 

It’s several minutes before the spell breaks, and they sheepishly meet each others’ gaze before they wordlessly begin to gather their stuff to leave. 

_______________________________________________________________________

In the daylight, they look at the map.

“Water tower,” Daryl points out. “Last place on the map.” He looks at her. “What do you think?” 

She looks at him and smiles softly. “One more.”

He grins at her, then takes her hand as they try again to help the people they love.

Together.


End file.
